by Stacy Juba
Eric knocked on an open door marked "Lieutenant." A slight man with thinning hair and glasses glanced up from his mahogany desk. His brown-and-white speckled mustache bristled beneath a hawkish nose. Triangular patches were stitched to the sleeves of his white shirt.
He half-rose to greet them, gold badge glittering. Kris noticed a gun in his holster and handcuffs attached to his belt. On the wall behind him, hung a mirrored ebony plaque with "A Policeman's Prayer" written in calligraphy.
Lieutenant Frank gestured toward two chairs. "Have a seat. Miss Langley, I presume?"
"Call me Kris. This is Eric Soares, Irene Ferguson's grandson."
"A pleasure to meet both of you. Irene is quite a lady. What can I do for you?"
Eric sank into a chair beside Kris. "We want to re-open Diana's case."
"This case won't be closed until everyone involved is dead. If we get a lead, we'll follow it, but after twenty-five years, our odds are pretty nil. Tell me about this investigation of yours. Do you have something new?"
"We were hoping you'd help us," Kris said. "No one was ever arrested. Obviously, there wasn't enough evidence, but do you have a gut feeling about who did it?"
Lieutenant Frank closed down, his wiry body stretching taut. "I can't tell you that. A police investigation is confidential."
"Even to family?" Eric asked.
"Especially to family."
"What about Vince Rossi? How good is his alibi?"
"Which part of confidential don't you understand?"
"This is crazy," Eric said. "You might know something that could help us."
"It works the other way around, son. If you know something, I'll listen."
"But-"
"I've gone through this a dozen times with your grandmother. She's accepted it, and you'll have to do the same." Lieutenant Frank extended a finger along his cheek. "Irene know you're stirring things up?"
"Yes," Kris answered.
Concern shone in the lieutenant's flint gray eyes. "She called me every month for years. Last time was to say she'd put Diana's story on a couple of unsolved murder web sites. I told her to be careful. Those web sites can charge big money. I'd hate to have Irene get her hopes up again."
"We think it's worth a try," Eric said. "You obviously don't."
Lieutenant Frank shifted, toying with his wedding band. "All I'm saying is be realistic. We've interviewed the same people over and over. The stories don't change. Look, son, don't you think I'd love to close out my career with this case? That was the biggest crime to hit Fremont in years. Diana's death is an open wound. If you throw me a bone, I'll chew it, but that's all I can do."
"Couldn't the department have done more to solve it?"
"Son, I know that case like the back of my hand. I know every move Diana made, from the blueberry muffin she ate for breakfast till she left the pizza place that night. I've gone through the statements so many times, I can recite 'em. We tried every angle. Tell me what we should've done different."
Sighing, Eric pressed a hand to his forehead. "I don't know."
Lieutenant Frank unclipped a ballpoint pen from his pocket and reached for a notebook. "Tell you what. I'm willing to listen. What have you got?"
"For starters, I met Jared Peyton and he claimed that he didn't make the harassing phone calls," Kris said. "He seemed sincere, but Diana's friend Raquel thinks he did it."
No reaction from Lieutenant Frank.
"I found out that he married Yvonne Harper, an old high school classmate of Diana's," she continued. "You must've known her father, Thomas."
"Good man. He died a few years ago. Go on."
"She was furious we were questioning her husband, and implied that Diana was ..." Kris faltered. She hadn't even told Eric yet, she'd been so preoccupied with Bruce's story.
"That Diana was what?"
Kris winced inwardly. I'm sorry, Diana. "Promiscuous. She claimed Diana had an affair with her high school teacher, Alex Thaddeus, and indicated she probably got involved with a string of other men when she was older."
"Are you serious?" Eric asked.
"Yvonne had no basis for that," Kris said. "But it's true Diana had a crush on Alex."
"I'm sure it was one-sided," Lieutenant Frank said. "Alex Thaddeus taught my kids. Besides, Diana was twenty-one when she was killed, not in high school. I doubt they'd seen each other in a long time."
"Then why would Yvonne bring it up?"
"I'd say she was trying to get you off her husband's back. Sounds normal to me. What else?"
"Vince Rossi wasn't too happy to see us."
Lieutenant Frank tossed the pen onto the desk and spread his hands. "I don't imagine he would be. Look, it's great that you're committed to this, but you've got nothing. If you're determined to go on, keep me posted."
Kris stood. "We should warn you, the Fremont Daily News is planning a story. I work there."
"I don't know if more publicity is good or bad. When the DA's office looked into the case fifteen years ago, I suggested that Irene call the media, but she was afraid how they'd portray Diana. Now, it seems a little late."
"But you'll talk to the reporter?"
"It's not Bruce, is it? I swear, he thinks he's covering the N.Y.P.D."
"Actually, it is him."
"Wonderful." Lieutenant Frank muttered under his breath. "Yeah, I'll talk to him."
Eric and Kris didn't speak until they got outside. Eric leaned against the railing, a chilly breeze ruffling his dark hair. He chewed his fingernail. "That was useless. I only learned one thing -- from you. Do you believe that rumor about Diana and her teacher?"
"I don't know," Kris said. "It ticked me off at first, but we can't rule it out. I'll run it by Raquel."
"I guess she'd be more inclined to know than Mom or Gram. It just sounds so sordid. Diana wasn't like that."
She didn't respond, distracted.
"What is it?" Eric asked.
Kris started toward the car. "I have an idea. Let's get out of here."
***
They retraced Diana's steps, beginning with the former Rossi's Bar, a video store near Fremont State College. Lieutenant Frank knew Diana's every move, but Kris needed a clearer picture. They stopped before the original pizza place, now a fish and chips restaurant, and then found the vicinity of Jared's apartment building.
Kris watched out the passenger window as college students carried overflowing baskets into a Laundromat. "I think he lived around here. It must have been torn down."
Eric turned up the heat. "Last stop?"
"I guess."
He headed to the Fremont State baseball field. Kris shuddered at the white trees extending bony arms. A ghostly parade.
Eric stared outside into the winter drear. "If Jared did it, the murder couldn't have been premeditated. He couldn't know he'd run into Diana at the pizza place. Could he?"
"He might have lost control, then dumped the body as fast as he could," she said.
But the garbage bag -- where would Jared get it? If he'd killed her in his apartment, wouldn't the police find traces of blood? Wouldn't neighbors see him drag out a body?
Unless someone wanted to frame him. Kris sighed. Maybe a stranger had killed Diana. Maybe they'd never know.
Conversation flagged into silence. The radio announcer predicted a blizzard for the next night. Good. She hoped Holly cancelled her boring party.
Eric drove Kris back to her apartment and idled the engine out front. He turned to face her. "It must be tough getting ready for work now. I can't imagine working a night shift."
"I enjoy it," Kris said. "It’s nice and quiet. Less people."
"Your boyfriend must miss you, unless he works those hours, too. How long have you guys been together?"
She gulped. She'd forgotten about the boyfriend lie spun at his parents' house. "To be honest, I wouldn't exactly call him my boyfriend. It's not that serious."
Oh, God, what was she doing?
"In that case ..." Eric closed the spac
e between them and his lips descended on hers. They hovered there long enough to heat her blood.
A spear of pleasure penetrated her as he parted her lips again. Kris thrilled to the taste of his mouth against hers and his fiery moist breath. Her hands climbed up the soft folds of his bomber jacket and wove through the strands at his collar. She flattened her palms against his shoulders and inched back.
"I've wanted to do that for awhile," Eric said. "I've been trying to get up my nerve since Hyde Park. My band's playing at Xaviers Saturday night. If you're not doing anything, maybe you could come with me. We can get something to eat beforehand."
Kris's heart jacknifed in her chest. Why hadn't she let him believe she was in a committed relationship? She had ruined Nicole's chances of growing up and falling in love. She didn’t deserve this wild excitement pulsing through her veins.
"I can't," Kris said. "My sister's having this get-together. I promised I'd be there."
His eyes flickered with disappointment. "That's okay. It'll probably snow anyway."
"I'd better go inside, or I'll be late for work."
Eric nodded, fiddling with the key in the ignition. "Stay in touch. If you need my help on the case, let me know."
"Thank you." Kris licked her dry lips, wanting to say more, but her mind came up blank.
So she said nothing.
***
Diana wandered Kris's bedroom, white toga shining in the moonlight. Coldness seeped into Kris's bones.
She wanted to run, but she couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
She was a human statue.
Blood caked Diana's limp brown hair and smeared her forehead. Her pale face looked gaunt, barely more than a skull. She stopped before an easel and waved a paintbrush. Red, tan and green bled together, surging onto the canvas like a ruptured artery.
"What ... what do you want?" Kris asked. "Why are you here?"
A soft giggle came from the closet.
Nicole stepped out of the darkness, holding Marmalade. Moonlight reflected off her cracked glasses, distorting her black pupils. Twin braids fell to her swollen throat.
Marmalade hissed.
Kris jerked up in bed, drenched in sweat, damp sheets twisted around her. She bit her tongue to stop screaming and wolfed down breaths of air. Shadows wavered over the walls. A cat lay curled beside her.
Chipmunk, it was just Chipmunk. His eyes slitted, he sleepily lifted his head. Kris flicked on the lamp, extinguishing the blackness. She had tumbled into bed at 1 a.m., exhausted. Eric's kiss had plagued her at work, sneaking into her brain as she raced to meet deadline.
Hugging her chest, Kris paced the room. She hadn't experienced such a vivid nightmare since moving back to Fremont, but the dreams never died. They lurked in her subconscious, waiting to attack. Just when she'd feel safe, another would strike.
She knelt on the floor in her cotton pajamas and buried her face in Chipmunk's warm fur.
***
Kris sipped hot chocolate between obits, groggy and lethargic. She deleted a paragraph that had cropped into an obit twice. A prickly sensation drummed at the back of her eyes and the base of her neck. Praying her aspirin would kick in soon, she massaged her forehead.
She had tried to nap all afternoon, imagining herself near the ocean, sunlight shimmering over the blue green waves, salt pungent in the air. She had scribbled in her journal, recording dark images from her dream. According to experts, seeing the details in black and white made the memories less scary.
The experts were wrong. Nothing gave her control. The nightmares would haunt her forever.
Her thoughts turned to Eric Soares. Kris closed her eyes, shutting out his hurt expression. Perhaps she had been wrong to suspect his motives for tagging along on her interviews. She couldn't deny the chemistry burning between them. He had kindled her interest from the beginning. Kris remembered the way his tender lips sought hers and the strange somersaults it elicited in her stomach.
It didn't matter how good the kiss had felt. It was wrong. Her headache sharpened with another pang.
Bruce sauntered over, extending a press release. It fluttered onto her desk in slow motion. "This has to be typed ASAP. I promised it would get in tomorrow."
Four pages of scrawled handwriting. Kris pushed the sheet back into his hands. He'd picked the wrong night to order her around. "I have eleven obituaries and the society page to proof. Forget it."
His blue eyes innocent, Bruce pointed to her hot chocolate. "How busy can you be? You have time for a coffee break."
This wasn't about a press release; it was about the Diana Ferguson case. He resented that she'd found a big story on her own.
"I'm not your personal typist," Kris said. "You can't give me something trivial on deadline."
"The last editorial assistant could handle it." Bruce smiled, making him even more handsome.
"The last editorial assistant quit."
Dex joined them and thrust his arms across his crinkled suit jacket. He'd hung around the newsroom for an extra hour, irritating Jacqueline. "What's going on?"
"Please tell Bruce that I don't have to take his orders," Kris said. "I have a pile of obits, and he expects me to type something that isn't even legible."
Dex scanned the press release. "She doesn't have time for this tonight. A charity wrestling match for the Police Association? It's not till next Wednesday, anyway."
"I told my contact I could get it in," Bruce muttered.
"Tell your 'contact' the pages were locked up. What did they write this with, their feet? Next time, tell them to find a computer."
Bruce grabbed the press release and stalked out of the room.
"What the hell was that about?" Dex glared after him.
"He rubbed me the wrong way, I guess," Kris said.
"You don't seem yourself. Your insomnia been acting up?"
"Yeah, but I'll be fine."
"You've got to take it easy. You're in here night and day, like some kind of robotic Lois Lane."
Kris gestured toward her piles. "I've got lots of work to do. There's engagements and press releases and the microfilm-"
"You still have a chance," Dex cut in.
"For what?"
"To make a splash with the Ferguson case. If you give Jacqueline an exclusive on a silver platter, she'll print it."
"You don't think I'm nuts?"
He shrugged. "If there's a chance it'll get me an exclusive, I don't care if you're nuttier than a chipmunk."
Chipmunk. Maybe that was a sign.
She grinned. "Thanks, Dex. You're the best."
Cheryl called after Kris's dinner break, concerned about the upcoming article. "Mom's nervous about a new reporter. She's reluctant to talk with anyone except you."
"I'll see if I can take her quotes and pass them on," Kris said. "My editor did tell me that I could contribute."
Sort of.
"Eric says Lieutenant Frank didn't speak highly of the other reporter," Cheryl said. "I hate to ask, but could I see the final copy before it goes to print?"
"I'm afraid that's a no-no in the news business," Kris said. "I’ve heard my editor, Jacqueline, telling people it violates newspaper policy. If you're worried, you could talk to her."
"Thanks, Kris. Michael and I will think about it. We know you'll do everything you can."
Kris hung up and tunneled her hands through her curls. If the Soares had any chance at a fair story, she'd have to make amends with Bruce. She found him playing computer Solitaire at his desk. He turned in one or two stories a day, and then goofed off.
"Look, sorry if I was touchy before," she began. "I'm not feeling that well. About the Ferguson case -- I wasn't trying to horn in on your territory."
He didn't look at her, his attention on the screen. "I have the police beat. You don't. Seems like you were horning in to me."
"It was part of my microfilm research, so I didn't see it that way. In fact, I feel badly that you got stuck with the article. Let me help you out. I'll type up m
y background information. You could interview the police, and I'll talk to Diana's mother. I've spoken to her already, so it'll be a matter of tightening up her quotes."
"Whatever. Maybe I'll use it, maybe I won't. Now if you don't mind, I'm a full-time reporter, unlike some people. I have stories to chase." Glowering, he picked up the phone.
Kris downed two more aspirin and called Raquel between obits. The phone line crackled, as if Raquel were walking around with a cordless. In the background, a cabinet door thudded once or twice. Kris pictured her searching the house for a bag of potato chips.
"I told you everything I know," Raquel said.
"I wanted your opinion. I heard a rumor about Diana." Kris stopped, uncertain how to phrase it. "That she may have slept around."
"Diana! That's insane."
"It's not true?"
"Of course not!"
"I also heard that Diana had an affair with Alex Thaddeus in high school."
Silence.
"Raquel?"
"I ... I heard you."
"And?" Kris heard a sharp intake of breath. She'd been right. Raquel didn't like talking about Alex. "Please, if you know something, you have to tell me. It could be important."
"This is crazy."
"Please, Raquel."
"You can't tell Mrs. Ferguson," Raquel said, her words rushing out. "Diana's reputation is already in the gutter. That's why I kept it to myself. It happened so long ago, if it was even true."
"I won't."
"About a month before she was killed, Diana told me something strange, that she made mistakes when it came to men. I asked what she meant, and Di asked if I could keep a secret. She told me this crazy story, about how senior year, she and Mr. Thaddeus had an affair. She said it should've made her smarten up, but it didn't."
"Did you believe her?"
"Not at first. Sure they flirted, but an affair? I thought she was trying to impress me. Later, I remembered Di had made us quit the History Club a couple months before graduation." Raquel hesitated. "Maybe she was telling the truth. It just seemed farfetched."
"Could the affair have started up again? Did-"
"She clammed up." Raquel sounded upset. "You don't think Mr. Thaddeus killed Diana. Do you?"